Battles without weapons
by Wolvenflower
Summary: Francis and Aurthur join the model UN. College AU, established relationship. Human names used.


(A/N: I wrote this because I wanted college age FrUK in a human setting, but I also needed world meetings, and thus we have a model UN. I actually have absolutely no knowledge of how that works, but I feel that I've read enough fanfiction where we've speculated on how the world meetings go that I could do okay with creating a model UN. Sorry sorry it probably sucks becuase I usually only write late at night.)

Model UN in college AU-  
Everyone needs to blow off steam. It's just that Aurthur and Francis have a lot more steam to blow off than the average member of the populace. They were constantly on a roller coaster of ups an downs of anger an love, but lately anger had been winning out far too often.

I don't like being at odds with my dear angleterre. It's getting rather tiresome to go to bed alone every night, retreating from an argument neither of us enjoys to a cold, lonely bed that's too big for just moi. Usually, our arguments and fights are enjoyable. It may not be healthy, but our rivalry is the foundation of our relationship. Our little tiffs (alright maybe they are not little) are what allows us to be happy together. It is only once we let all the anger out that we can enjoy ourselves.  
But lately our fights have gotten stale. There isn't the same fiery, heated passion. Instead, we are stuck arguing about drab things that neither us us feels to strongly about. Last week we argued what the best way to tie a shoelace is, because that is just how dry our basin of debate topics is.  
But then, dear, sweet, and wonderful Elizaveta introduced us to the model UN club. Let me tell you of the wonders it has done for mon angleterre et moi.

It was a lovey, crisp autumn day that I had been quite enjoying. Rainy Saturdays in the fall are my favourite kind of day. Perfect for curling up in your favourite chair with a good book and a cup of warm tea. Dreary and peaceful. That is, until Francis bust into the room, damp breathing heavy and his hair a mess from the wind outside.  
"Francis, what the bloody fuck-?" I began, but before I could finish cursing at him for disturbing me, he shoved a rumpled flyer into my hands.  
"We're joining a model UN," he blurted out breathlessly. Wild excitement shone our clearly on his angel-carved face. I opened my mouth in an attempt to object or at the very least question him but he put a swift finger to my lips to stop me before I had the chance. After he effectively shushed me, he took my hands in his and said, "It's going to be great."  
I frowned. This sounded absolutely dreadful.  
And so it began.

Despite Authur's strong protesting, Francis still managed to drag him to a meeting. (Aurthur pouting was nothing new to Francis, and he may or may not have had some help from Elizaveta.)  
Upon entering the meeting room, Elizaveta directed them to their seats. Aurthur promptly sat himself down in his chair and crossed his arms and legs.  
"Wanker," he breathed at Francis.  
"Don't pout, cher," he scolded.  
Ever the optimist, the Frenchman assured his stuffy Brit that it was going to be fun, really.  
"You know I hate fun, frog," he snarled.  
"Clearly," Francis snorted.

I had expected it to be awful and boring, but I was quite surprised to find that was not the case at all. The arguments of the other members were fascinating. True, some of the things said were totally irrelevant, but many of them had very strong points. Ludwig, who I had met once in a history class, was a top-notch debater. The boy representing Italy was very strange and off topic most of the time, and poor Ludwig had to spend a large portion of the meeting trying to get him to focus. Alfred, who had once been an obnoxious lab partner of mine in a biology course had some very loud and very stupid ideas about global climate change.  
But the best part was the arguments. Finally, finally I had something I could use to prove Francis wrong. When the topic of public transport came up I took that as an opportunity to prove to the world that the United Kingdom was massively superior to the Republic of France. To prove to everyone that I was better than Francis. Francis had the same thought, though, and what was supposed to be a civilised discussion soon turned into a heated battle in which fists were pounded on wooden tabletops, metal chairs were overturned, and plastic cups of water were splashed in faces. Jaws dropped and chaos broke out.  
Normally, I despise and frown upon all sorts of unruly behaviour, but this- well.  
It was brilliant.

We were returning home from the meeting, all bundled up in gloves and hats and scarves, when Authur shocked me.  
"That was terrible," he lied. But I knew it was an attempt to get me to oppose him.  
"We're never going to miss a meeting," I replied.  
"Fine," he scoffed, doing his best to look angry about that.  
We walked for a ways in silence. I took the risk of getting swatted in the face and grabbed Aurthur's hand.  
Rather than swatting it away as he usually woul have, today he must have been too tired, and I was granted his silent acquiescence. He just huffed, his warm breath forming a cloud in the cold November evening.  
Needless to say, the meetings continued, and it was just what we needed. After arguing and bickering about global issues we would both be too exhausted or tired of debate to argue with each other, and so we could go home to our flat in peace. Aurthur can be remarkably civil and even affectionate towards me after he's finished cursing at me.

I had been relaxing in my favorite chair with a glass of wine and a book on economic theory when Aurthur came home. His choppy blonde hair was ruffled from the wind, and he looked generally disheveled, but in an endearing way. He dropped his book bag on the floor and stumbled over to me, before plopping himself down on my lap sideways, his legs hanging over the armrests.  
"Long day?" I ask.  
"Mmmh," he replies.  
"I'll take that as a yes, then," I laugh softly. He nods tiredly in response. He shifts himself so that his legs are now on my lap and he leans his head against my chest, tryingto snuggle into my cashmere sweater. He is just the cutest creature alive. I am struck with the need to kiss him (even more so than usual), so I place a gentle peck in his messy hair, and he grumbles happily in the way that only my little Briton can. He looks up at me with those bright, lively eyes of his, and to my surprise, he grabs my face and kisses me and I marvel at the beauty of my life.

Evn when he kisses the top of my head I can tell just how much he loves me. Annoying as it is, it sometimes seems as if every act that man does is the very manifestation of love itself. I look up at Francis; I want to gaze up at his face (which is beautiful, although I'll never admit it). I catch a glimpse of the subtle cobalt in his deep azure eyes and I'm lost in them, I'm lost in him. I can't help myself when I look at him now, I just have to touch his face. I have to kiss his face. And I do.  
Lips meet lips in a gentle embrace and I toss my arms loosely over his shoulders. He places a hand on the curve of my lower back in order to pull me closer to him. For once, I don't protest; I'm far too tired to do anything except give him my acquiescence. So I let him pull us together until our chests are nearly touching, only leaving room for- oh my. There are hands on the hem of my shirt, now beginning to venture under and upwards.  
His hands are warm and smooth, so unlike mine, but they feel fantastic on my skin. (But I'll be damned if I ever say it aloud) they slide up my stomach, and move outwards. Fingertips kiss the sides of my rib cage, before they move to caress my spine. I shiver involuntarily and he gives me a breathy laugh.  
"I love you," I whisper.  
"I know," he purrs back at me.  
"Git." I bury my face in the space between his neck and shoulder.  
He chuckles and kisses my hair.  
"I love you, too, mon amour."  
I turn my head, tracing a line on his skin with my tongue as I do so. I am pleased to hear him make a sharp inhale. I kiss the back of his jaw and his fingernails lightly ghost over my back. There's a a barely audible moan that I'll never admit to. I shift so that my knees are comfortably placed by his hips. He presses his lips against mine, demanding, but gentle.  
"Bedroom?" Francis suggests?  
"Bed," I agree.

Yes. The model UN can do wonders.


End file.
